Mondays
by stress
Summary: [Newsies Challenge No. Two] Everything would have been fine if he just hadn't understood how the mind of a boy works. He wouldn’t have felt so guilty – and, of course, he wouldn’t have had that smelly boy lurking at his feet…


Author's Note: _Wow, that_ _was rough. I am definitely more of the wordy type so to limit myself to just one thousand words… definitely rough. But, it's Newsies Challenge, after all – and I tried my best to fit the criteria. Fun times, yeah? Yeah._

Disclaimer: _I do not own, nor stake any claim, to any of the original characters shamelessly borrowed from _Newsies – _they are the property of Disney, © 1992._

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**MONDAYS**

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Everything would have been fine if he just hadn't understood how the mind of a boy works. He wouldn't have felt so guilty – and, of course, he wouldn't have had a smelly boy lurking at his feet…

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It had all started that morning…

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As superintendent of the Newsboys' Lodging House, Alfred Kloppman had a routine.

First, he would wake up from the room he kept on the second floor of the lodging house.

After changing into fresh clothes, and quickly splashing his wrinkled face with a bit of water, he would run a comb through his white hair, set his glasses on his nose and, lastly, perch his hat jauntily on top of his head.

Once ready, he would check his pocket watch before taking the stairs up to the bunkroom.

Waking the boys was always a chore. There was the sort, like Skittery, who needed a slap to get started, and others, like Cowboy, who wouldn't get up without some smart aleck response.

But, overall, the waking process went as smoothly as it could and, in no time, the old man was left alone to continue with his duties.

While much of his routine was constant, a good deal of it varied from day to day.

On Wednesdays, one of the ladies from the Children's Aid Society came by to supervise the washing of the linens.

On Fridays, it was up to him to make sure that the lockers were functional and that all keys were accounted for.

And on Mondays, Kloppman tallied up the figures in the ledger.

Kloppman hated Mondays. They always brought trouble…

Sometimes Kloppman woke up on a Monday and wondered why he dreaded this day so… and then he remembers: the damn ledger. With clients as untrustworthy as the boys who came to lodge at one of the CAS homes, it was a rare feat indeed when the numbers in the ledger book balanced. There was always one boy (or five) who were behind on their fare; it was on Monday that Kloppman had to take the morning – sometimes longer – to decipher the numbers and discover who was behind.

Now, on this Monday, the book was as bad as ever. It had been hours since the boys had been sent on their way and Kloppman was _still _sitting at his desk, hunched over the open book, a pencil in hand.

It was in such a position that the boy found him. He came rushing in, his gangly legs performing some awkward mix of a skip and a run as momentum propelled him through the back entrance. He was panting, out of breath, as he flung himself at the desk. Dirty hands and even dirtier fingers rapped frantically against the top of the wooden structure as he gasped out, "Kloppman! You've got to help me!"

Almost relieved to have a break from the cursed book, Kloppman lifted his head, a wrinkled finger pushing his glasses back up his nose. Watery blue eyes glanced at the boy before him and he shook his head. _Monday…_ "What did you do now?"

He didn't even have the decency to look ashamed. He just shook his head, front strands of hair falling into his face as he struggled to catch his breath. "I need a place to lay low… Sarah's coming for me. I got to hide."

Kloppman sighed. He knew Sarah – the Jacobs girl. Ever since the strike had ended, she and her brothers had taken to visiting the lodging house when they had the chance. To his mind, Sarah was a sweet girl. She had even tatted him a lace doily to use as a glasses rag.

But there was no denying that the boy seemed panicked at the prospect of Sarah finding him so, being the good guy that Kloppman was, he humored the boy. "Alright, but … _what_ did _you_ do now?"

There was a boyish grin on his face as he tried (and failed) to look innocent. "Nothin'."

"Nothing?"

"Well… it's Monday again… and…"

"Out with it, boy."

He did not get the chance to answer. With a glance over his shoulder, his brown eyes widened and he yelped, hurrying around the desk. Ducking down, nearly knocking Kloppman over, he hid.

Just in time for a visibly concerned Sarah Jacobs to come shuffling through the lobby. "Mr. Kloppman," she greeted, with a small bow of her head. She, too, was slightly out of breath as she continued, "I'm sorry to intrude but have you seen Les? Mama set up the washtub for him but he never came home for his bath."

Suddenly, everything started to make sense…

Les Jacobs was a boy, after all. And, if there was one thing that Kloppman learned after a life of watching after young boys, it was this: boys and baths did not mix.

He felt a quick jab into the squishy part of his knee. Aware that the boy did not want his position revealed, Kloppman shook his head. "Sorry, Sarah. Haven't seen him. Maybe he's with Cowboy."

"No… I already found Jack and David. They haven't seen Les since early morning." Looking thoughtful, Sarah brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Maybe I should check back home… Mama's having kittens over him not coming back this morning, you know."

The old man tried his best to appear as if Les wasn't hiding at his feet. "If he comes around, I'll be sure to send him on home."

"I'd appreciate that," she replied earnestly before turning on her heel and walking away.

Kloppman watched as the girl left. After a few seconds, he told Les, "She's gone."

Les stood, a relieved grin on his face as his straightened his cap. "Thanks, Kloppman. I owe you one," he said gratefully, before shuddering. "I really do hate Mondays."

Despite the urge to shake his head at the boy, Kloppman found that there was nothing he could do but nod in agreement.

Mondays were always rotten, anyhow.


End file.
